


Nothing But Tribble

by Enterprisingly



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bad Puns, Gen, Humor, Prompt Fic, Tribbles (Star Trek)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterprisingly/pseuds/Enterprisingly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just one tribble; how much trouble could it possibly cause?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But Tribble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Narrendor](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Narrendor).



> Narrendor wasn't feeling well and wanted something with tribbles to cheer her up.

“There is,” said Jim, “probably a perfectly good explanation for why this has just happened. Maybe. But because I am currently buried under a pile of... animals... that don’t even belong on my ship, let alone the middle of the bridge, I don’t actually care that much.”

With some wiggling, he managed to free his arms from the mountain of round, brown balls, and once those were free he began shoving the creatures away until he was able to extract the rest of his body from their midst. Then he reached up and shut the maintenance hatch, which only seconds before had been raining down fuzzballs on his head.

When Jim had sounded the alarm because security has reported that there was an unauthorized presence in the maintenance ducts above the bridge, this was not what he had been expecting.

Brushing a stray critter off his shoulder, Jim turned, very slowly, to look at his senior staff and bridge crew. Every last one of the disrespectful bunch was staring at him, wearing expressions that were torn between hysterical laughter and utter horror.

“So. Would any one of you care to volunteer a theory as to  _how_ these things- _whatever_ they are- managed to get on board my ship in such a great number without anyone noticing?”

Scotty coughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Scotty?” Jim prompted.

“They’re… ah… they’re called tribbles. And this may be my fault.”

Spock arched an eyebrow. “May be, Mr. Scott?”

“Aye… I might have… beamed the first one aboard?” He looked sheepishly between Jim and Spock. “I had no idea it would breed like this! Honest! I had it for two whole years on Delta Vega and it just sat there making noise and not moving and–” 

“Mr. Scott, you are babbling.” Spock said.

Scotty’s cheeks flushed slightly and he mumbled, “Right. Sorry. I just missed it and figured there was no harm in beaming up the wee beastie aboard.”

“You sure you didn’t accidentally beam up every tribble in the entire universe, all at once?” Uhura asked

Scotty picked up a random tribble and stared at it forlornly. “No, I just beamed up the one. But… I think maybe the warm, friendly environment of the ship and proper nourishment might have made it feel rather… pregnant?”

McCoy, who was scanning a large, brown tribble with his medical tricorder, looked up at Scotty. “I’m not even going to try to explain all of the reasons that the way you chose to phrase that makes me uncomfortable as a man of science, but your theory is essentially correct. Unfortunately for all of us… I'd guess that every single one of these damn tribbles is also in the same state, and if we don’t get rid of them soon, they’re gonna overrun this ship.”

Jim rubbed his nose, which was beginning to itch slightly. “ We have two Klingon warbirds shadowing us, Starfleet HQ is breathing down our necks after that last mission went south, and half of the crew is still recovering from an outbreak of lungworm… Scotty, if you weren’t so damn good at your job, I’d demote you for this. As it is, you’ve just signed yourself up for three weeks of voluntary waste-filter maintenance, and if you don’t come up with a solution for getting every last tribble off of my ship before we all drown in them, it’s going to be nothing but waste filter maintenance duty for you, until we die.”

“Aye, Captain.” Scotty at least had the good grace to look properly chagrined, which soothed Jim’s anger slightly. Well, it did until he felt a tribble nibbling on his pants. He shook it free.

“Mr. Spock, you have the Conn."

"Acknowledged." Said Spock.

Jim cleared his throat, which was now beginning to tickle a little, too. "I’m going to go… be somewhere that isn’t knee-deep in tribbles. I think I’m allergic to them.”

“Allergic? And you didn’t say anything?” McCoy’s head snapped up.

“It’s not that bad! Just… a little… you know… itchy?” Jim rubbed his nose again.

McCoy advanced on him with a thunderous expression and a hypospray that had seemingly materialized from nowhere.

“Sickbay. Now.”

“Jesus Christ, where did that even come from?” Jim held up his hands, in a placating gesture, and backed away from McCoy and his hypo, “I’m fi- _ACHOO_!” Jim cut himself off with a mighty sneeze and was summarily stabbed with the hypo and then dragged, by the back of his shirt, toward the nearest turbolift by his furious CMO.

“Okay, actually this all sucks and I fucking hate- ACHOO!- everything.” Jim said, “Scotty, get those tribbles off my- ACHOO!- ship or so help me I will maroon you on the next planet we pass, where you and your ACHOO!- transporter shenanigans can be someone else’s problem- GOD DAMN IT BONES DON’T HYPO ME WHILE I’M GIVING ORDERS! ACHOO!”

The turbolift door swished closed behind the two men, leaving the bridge in total silence, save for the gentle purring of the tribble pile. Then everyone began talking at once. Well,  Sulu and Chekov were too busy clutching at each other and laughing until they cried to actually talk, but they were certainly making their fair share of noise. 

The only people who weren’t contributing to the general cacophony were Spock and Scotty, and that was mostly because Spock was staring at Scotty with an expression that did not bode well for the engineer’s continued good health, and Scotty was furiously tapping away at a PADD and trying to figure out what to do with several thousand tribbles, that wouldn’t get him into more trouble with the angry half-Vulcan.

When the solution finally struck him, it was so simple, that Scotty couldn’t believe that he hadn’t thought of it right away.

“Mr. Chekov! Stop messing about; I need you in the transporter room now. Lieutenant Uhura… what are the coordinates for those Klingon ships?”

- 

Several hours and many hypos later, Jim woke up dazed and disoriented in sickbay.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Sleeping Beauty.” McCoy says, drily from somewhere near the foot of Jim’s biobed. "Are you feeling any better now?"

Jim yawned. “Yeah, much. Oh, hey; what happened with the tribbles?”

“All gone, Captain.” Said Scotty, who was sitting in the chair to Jim’s right.

“And where did they go?” Jim asked.

Scotty’s face suddenly broke into a wide grin. “It seems there’s someone out there who likes tribbles even less than you do, Captain.”

Jim’s eyebrows rose. “Is that right?”

“If the panicked transmissions that Uhura is picking up from those Klingon ships that were following us are anything to go on, I’d say so.”

Jim laughed. “Scotty, you didn’t! You gave the tribbles to the Klingons?”

“Aye; all two thousand six hundred and thirteen of them! We are now tribble _and_ Klingon free. I just figured that I’d- to use your words- _make them someone else’s problem_ , but it turns out that Klingons are terrified of the wee beasties, though I couldn't tell you why.” 

“Who would have thought that Klingons would be afraid of something like that…” Jim shook his head, still laughing. “You know, this almost makes up for beaming them aboard in the first place.”

Scotty shrugged and smiled. “Well, they were my mess to begin with and getting rid of them was really… _no tribble at all_.”

He laughed and ducked as Jim threw a pillow at his head.


End file.
